


Mala Vida

by sequence_fairy



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 11:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12131367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequence_fairy/pseuds/sequence_fairy
Summary: Ichigo’s seen a lot of things in this line of work, but never a woman like this.





	Mala Vida

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [ichirukimonth](http://ichirukimonth.tumblr.com). Prompt was 'mystery/noir'.

Rain sluices down the gutter, and winter’s chill rides in the wind that rises in howling cacophony as it hurtles around the concrete and glass jungle of the downtown. Ichigo’s office is drenched in shadow, lit from without by the headlights of passing cars. The light glimmers in the heart of the ice cubes that clink in the cut glass tumbler holding court on a desk strewn with files and photographs. The mostly empty bottle of whiskey rests precariously on the edge, and more files are stacked on his desk chair. **  
**

Ichigo himself stands to one side of the window, listening to the wind and smoking a cigarette absentmindedly. Smoke curls towards the ceiling, and Ichigo lifts his gaze to follow it’s meandering path. He casts back to another night like this, two weeks ago, when she’d come in out of the storm. 

“You’re Kurosaki?” She’d said, when he’d looked up from his phone, startled at her unlooked-for entrance. She was dressed all in black - widow’s weeds, Ichigo would call them later - and damp from the rain. Her hair was midnight ink, and her eyes, Ichigo would see them in his dreams hereafter, they were unnaturally violet, a colour he thought could only live in the sky. She wasn’t tall, but the slit of her dress came up to mid-thigh, and as she stepped into to his office, he could see a tantalizing triangle of skin framed in lace on one side and red silk on the other two. 

The woman coughed delicately. Ichigo dragged his eyes up from where they’d gotten stuck on the curve of her hips and finally found her face again. “Are you Kurosaki?” She asked again, and this time, there was something nearly playful in the slow curve of her mouth. 

“Uh,” Ichigo had replied, intelligently, and then cleared his throat. “Yeah, yeah, that’s me. Can I help you?” She’d stood, waiting, and Ichigo had blinked at her, before leaping to his feet and sweeping a pile of newspapers off the chair on the other side of his desk. “Have a seat? Can I - uh, can I get you a drink?”   

“No, thank you,” she’d said as she sat down, gingerly. “My name is Rukia Kuchiki. I hear you can help people like me.” 

Ichigo sat back down, and ferreted a pen and a tattered notebook out of the detritus on his desk. “People like you? What do you mean?” 

There was a long silence, and Ichigo was almost ready to ask her again, but she looked up from her hands and he caught her gaze. Her eyes were violet, and buried in them was a grief that Ichigo knew from personal experience. This was a woman who had lost someone dear, and here she was, in his office, on a Wednesday night, refusing a drink and sitting primly on his ratty extra chair. 

“I hear you can find things, lost things.” Her voice was low, and Ichigo was reminded of the taste of good bourbon. 

“I’m a private investigator, so I suppose that’s in my job description.” Ichigo leaned back in his chair. “What can I help you find?” 

“Someone has stolen the family diamonds,” Rukia said, and Ichigo sat up straight. Family diamonds, plural. Diamonds. Not diamond. He took a second look at the woman in front of him, and this time, he noticed the designer handbag and the expensive haircut and the way her coat was cut perfectly for her. He mentally revised his fee and decided she could probably afford expenses as well. 

“Okay,” Ichigo said, “why don’t you start at the beginning?”

The story came out in fits and starts and Ichigo’s notes got more and more detailed as she went on. The setting is lavish - a party at the family estate on the edge of town, under cover of darkness and the attended by the glittering throngs of old and new money alike.  The plot egregious - the diamonds stolen, her brother’s second in command brutally murdered, and the police at loose ends or paid off by parties involved.

When she was finished, Ichigo sat back for a moment before leaning forward to fish his pack of smokes out from under a stack of files. He shook the pack, freeing a cigarette before cocking the package in Rukia’s direction. She demurred. “Do you mind?” he asked, and she shook her head again. Ichigo lit his smoke, inhaled and then leaned back again, exhaling the smoke to the ceiling.

“Alright,” Ichigo said, after a moment, “I’ll take the case. We’ll need to discuss fees–”

“Whatever it is, I’ll pay it.”

Ichigo could feel his eyes widening. “I’ll draw up a contract, I can messenger it to you in the morning, you can have your lawyer–”

“Start tonight, no paper trail.”

“I - uh, Ms Kuchiki–”

“It’s Rukia, please. And I understand, you want to do this properly, but I’m asking you to be discreet. No one can know, the person who killed Renji–” her voice hitched and Ichigo wondered if the black was for mourning after all. Rukia took a deep breath. “Whoever stole the diamonds had inside information about security and the estate, so I don’t want word to get out. If you need to reach me, you can call this number and leave me a message. I will return your call.” She opened her handbag and handed him a card. The number was printed in stark black ink, with a black swallowtail butterfly design covering one corner.

“I’ll await your first report tomorrow evening.” With that, she stood, and Ichigo watched her go, looking from the card in his hand to her retreating back as she went.

That had been two weeks ago, and even Ichigo was impressed by the mire he was uncovering. It seemed the Kuchiki family had a hand in activities of all levels of savouriness and his list of suspects was a mile long if it was an inch. He was no closer than he had been two weeks ago. Ichigo stepped back from the window and stubbed out his cigarette. He swallowed the dregs in his glass, before setting it back down decisively.

He crossed his office in quick strides and swept his coat on, then pulled his hat down over his hair, running his fingers along the brim to make sure it was angled just right. He locked his office behind him and went out into the rain, flagging down the first taxi he saw.

He had a date to keep, and he wasn’t about to keep a lady waiting.


End file.
